"lipless" poems
Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.
Daffodil bulbs instead of *****
Stared from the sockets of the eyes!
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts and luxuries.
Donne, I suppose, was such another
Who found no substitute for sense,
To seize and clutch and penetrate;
Expert beyond experience,
He knew the anguish of the marrow
The ague of the skeleton;
No contact possible to flesh
Allayed the fever of the bone.
. . . . .
Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye
Is underlined for emphasis;
Uncorseted, her friendly bust
Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.
The couched Brazilian jaguar
Compels the scampering marmoset
With subtle effluence of cat;
Grishkin has a maisonette;
The sleek Brazilian jaguar
Does not in its arboreal gloom
Distil so rank a feline smell
As Grishkin in a drawing-room.
And even the Abstract Entities
Circumambulate her charm;
But our lot crawls between dry ribs
To keep our metaphysics warm.
7.2k
Au(Or)al Tune
When (O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity knocks –
Ah, pour that tune into me
n(O)t
just write or speak
but
/zIg:zAg/
gut--
--teral mut--
--ter yarns
With
Mouth-churn--
--ing-beat-lick--
--ings.
Half-grown seedling ([her]bal:e(X)ssen(10)ces)
into sm(O)ke
adolescent (O)re worn from being p(o)(o)r—
it was nE(X)CESSary for:
battles
birds
beats
b(O)(O)ks
bottles
bucks
b(O)nes
boys
being(bad)
sm(O)ke-rings w(ear)y with surr(end)er
stripped
v(O)wel
for
v(O)wel
thr(OU)gh the yawn: (O)nly
“(O)h.”
(O)h
… foll(O)ws
the
You’re w(or)th-knowing-ONLY-(O)nce
type of l(i)ke.
VERSE/VERSUS: the
You’re-w(or)th-knowing-AT:LEAST-(O)nce
type of l(i)ke
VERSE/VERSUS:
for (u)s
it’s the worst type of verse
when it’s
them:VERSUS:us
(verses)
likewise -- (O)r worse --
it should really be about//
a bad in (u)s: Y(O)U:ME
(O)h after a
kn(O)ck
(O)h after a
t(u)ne:://
(end)-verse
for worse – it’s an
(end)-versus-us
type of verse.
(O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity
pouring
ringing e(X)cesses
like
ear-worms to
hear words to
heat hearts.
Ah::rest that mouth-verse onto me.
(restful//fluster)
Ah::rest that mouth
(silent//listen)
soulless gall(O)w r(u)ng
lipless v(O)wel sl(u)ng
like
ARTS::between::STARS
then
VOICES RANT ON::into::CONVERSATION
then
PAYMENT RECEIVED::yet::EVERY CENT PAID ME
worst-verse:
Y(O)u//like hanging
your dipTH(O)NGS
on (O)pportun(e)ity’s d(O)(O)r
like
sm(O)ke-rings
like
being(bad)
like
Y(O)U:ME
like
(O)h. n(O).
(end)-verse:
worst-verse:
L(I)ttle.Kn(O)wn.V(O)wel::
n(O)(O)se big for (u)s
ALL.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Morbid hallways swathed in death,
smeared with blood soaked discontent,
wrought with cacophonic lament;
this is my asylum.
Eyeless gazes pierce the veil
that separates my mind from Hell.
Though, thin's the shroud that shan't prevail;
this is my asylum.
Lipless, toothless, ear to ear;
these wretched grins sinewed with fear.
Putrefaction rots their sneers;
this is my asylum.
This is where the dead don't die;
this hellion mire's where they abide
with fleshless hands stretched toward the sky;
this is my asylum.
Asphyxiation, let me breathe,
lest I join these mortuous fiends.
Purge my soul; I shall bequeath
myself to my asylum.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
I sit by the window
In absent mindedness
Speaker of the so-called
grey crested emotions.
No more wine?
No more dead birds?
as happy as the outer space
as poor as my manhood.
I sit by the window
and
I touch you in the night
Like the hero of your dream
Prosecuted and paralyzed
by the hallowed love
I touch you cold,
tell me,
how close is this to a lipless grin? .
- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
When monsters fall in love, do they leave their ways behind them?
or terrorize towns hand in hand?
Do they still open tops of buildings like giant jars of jam
with giddy smiles striking fear for miles around them?
Will they still pick planes from the sky? Or just the crust from their lover's cloudy eyes?
Do their mangled hearts become manicured?
With razor claws brushing wretched jaws,
will children hear them making out in closets?
Will they huff and puff at armies, or yell sweet nothings to pass the time?
Their passion would be fascinating, making love while making masses fear their wrath.
And maybe if we're lucky, we'll see two monsters in the park--
with lipless mouths and fighting tongues--
showing us a love so stark, it would be a first to be given hope
by such vile a folk.
For there's a chance for all of us, if even monsters fall in love.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
I heard Peter Piper picked a pricey pepper, the same day I heard he got chased down by a hungry mob of less than lovely lepers, now Peter Piper and his picked pepper are prodded by hot pokers while a village of now happy, hairless, horrifyingly lipless lepers salivate in anticipation of poor Peter Piper's soon to be pickled body.
The Masses chant and cheer to sounds of Peter's screams that seem to season his sizzling skin as children scrape scolding scraps peeling from his searing kneecaps.
Veins build up pressure, veins then rupture, veins open and spray onto the crowd and moisturize all the rough textures, soaked faces gain weight and fall off exposing maggots that festered, excited crowds jump and cheer as their knees buckle and bodies fracture.
The elder ***** picks a peck of pickled Peter Piper, now the elder ***** enjoys a pepper with a peck of old Peter Piper.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
Sleeping lifeless under an old juniper tree
Lipless and unable to taste
Blind to the world and its surroundings
Vultures don't let it lay in peace
A calf has no milk to drink, no mother to love
Me, saddened and disturbed by the look on its motionless face
Why now, why this place?
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 11:50 AM UTC
Breaking waves, folding in river bends (meandering)
with an effortless grace
Cupids mouth, foaming to return -
broken and filling up the landscape.
Cracked horseshoes
waltzing across a vibrating brain,
all the worlds night
quartz, cutting drunk into
your Green city.
Banishing a sense of self
uprooting positivity, displacing our discontempt -
boil out the water from the soup of human condition.
Boredoms grace.
We're rotting, lizards tongues
wearing the past, skin deep
Imbued.
a morbid relocation of entrance
authority, a fee
Reflecting light off your face
always leading back,
back towards a tabletop nausea.
Caked in powder,
i make my way over -
licking my finger and rubbing away
at the cracks formed years ago
wandering in and out of Escher's wet dream,
hoping to settle mind and body
numbed and lethargic,
medicine doesn't help.
An open patio door,
grooming in the whisped brown dawn -
7.34am
God's rags, crisp
displacing particles against the mountain lip
red light brewing in the observers mind.
Cubes of water
pushing through into tomorrows wake
all unwrapping like 1,000 words
diluted into one second.
I'm tired
appetite gone
graven, knowledge of the inside of my mouth
encyclopedic and (almost) boring.
It's closed again
at the crux of abandon,
the skies youthful,
built from wood, holding up the trees.
Excess - child's play for Atlas.
Rogue, electric Blue.
Mollusc in hand
living, lipless
just outside the geopolitical borders
heading back towards maturity.
Nihil,
projects objectivity, sycamore due, borders
as happiness combed our soft necks.
A situation is only what you make of it,
we're all in on this
living together in leaves -
by roadsides
making homes where we sleep.
The sky is on fire
exploding into fruition
as hot chlorine licks against unwashed belly buttons and hair
going blind and stripping back
it breaks you.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
The shovel hits the dirt in softened thunks
I hope you come up whole, and not in chunks
You’re buried deep, at six feet down
Was she buried in jeans or in a gown?
I hope to be your Romeo from a thousand romance plays
Nevermind, I think you know what dead girls can’t say
Nilsen gave me some sage advice
Don’t ever go to the same yard twice
And don’t toss the old ones in the sink
That’s one good way to get tossed in the clink
Six feet of dirt now to my side
You’re coming with me, you’re taking a ride
You thought the hearse was the last of your life
Don’t be daft, honey, you’ll soon be my wife!
Your coffin smells, my dear it’s true
It is no matter, I love your blue
Skin, your thinning hair
Into your fading eyes I stare
As I caress
That cold dead spot
Beneath your dress
I hope, my dear, you don’t mind the trunk
My head is swimming; am I in love or just drunk?
Oh, if you look upon my trunk with dread
Would help to think of it as a marital bed?
Maybe some wine to get in the mood, with you by side
Just the moonlight a pint of the Wild I
I know some look upon me strange
And some would call my love deranged
They don’t understand, they’re far too snobby
This isn’t a curse, just a hobby
If they saw me like this I know they’d panic
But I’m not crazed, on drugs or manic
I feel peace when I see your lipless smile
I know I’m just a harmless necrophile.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
My lipless
silver teeth, icicles,
a hundred tiny razors
on a hungry blade
biting away
at my fleshy meal;
playing a
grotesque form
of tic-tac-toe;
with whom?
Does it matter?
Not really; only for
this bite, I live;
the copper
complements
my own metallic flavor;
the accidental
slip, or not
so much...
A wince. I mark
my final X,
two jagged
red lines;
in triumph, I drink
my sweet
merlot; a toast,
to my opponent,
my partner;
we have both won.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:08 PM UTC
An endless search
For before the hopeless
Prior to the pain
Pre drowning in sadness
It must be there
That rare moment of bliss
I can't FUCCKING remember,
"Has it always been like this?"
A lost sliver of memory
Eerily missing the feeling like a lipless first kiss
The want and drive evident
But before it all, most memorable, there to trigger the fall, my evil twin, Sir Anxious
I tear up as I absorb old videos
Finding the smile in milestones of my son, a present I was pleasantly present to witness
"...ah, there it is,
My piece of bliss
An unchecked happiness
Oh how I miss this..."
But I did this,
I have no business
Asking for a witness
Or forgiveness
©2024
Apr 29, 2024
Apr 29, 2024 at 10:55 PM UTC
I wouldn't mind kissing your chapped lips
or touching elbows late at night.
We could spin the world away
and sing about the lipless.
I'd vaccum my room to get rid of the smell
and then we could lay there until our thoughts settle,
or I could make you tea, promising not to spit in the cup.
I don't know if you like sugar or not,
but I do, so I'll put it in anyway.
I know you don't like apples,
oranges, babies, hairy legs,
stair cases, dark tunnels,
neon colors, highlighted hair,
leftovers, or gapped teeth.
I know you like milk,
dark hair, movies (almost any),
games, poetry, dancing,
singing, my hands (touching yours),
and eye contact.
I only have 6 dollars,
3 pills, 4 cigarettes,
5 fingers (on each hand),
2 eyes, and 1 interest.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
The thought of you makes me sick.
Knowing that you're still here,
It feels like you're always at my back.
Like there's whiskey breath down my neck.
I mistake other girls for you.
Wavy dark hair,
Heavy-handed makeup,
I wonder if they regret their faces
Like I do.
In the pit
Of my stomach,
I am empty.
Feasting on whatever
Sweet nothings I can gather.
After you left me,
Hungry.
I am slow to eat,
To sleep...
With a girl
Would be to
Replace you...
I wish
I had never met you.
Every day
I am betrayed
By want.
I lust for
The best of you
And I hate
The rest.
Part of me still loves you.
And that's the part I hate.
I try to abandon her,
But she is relentless.
I reach for lipless faces
And my kisses fall, tasteless.
I look for eyes across a room,
And find my sight
Fades to black.
The crook in my nose
Cracks open.
All I smell is rust.
I cannot face you.
My face goes numb.
My skin is see-through.
People are asking me
If I'm sick.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
didst
thy ever faceless father
denote the plateau
whereupon the dream drugged
childs of Morpheus
wander? so well did this traveler
make
a cough of starry
conquered nights i begged his name
afore he maketh for another
lipless realm of abstract clouds
disheveled leaves kissing scattered
drops of light;
"patron of articulate fantasies, love not the skin of others slumber"
"be patient
son of dusky flesh,
anon
i shall be again
another supreme dusty
sleep. so lay thy head well and make merry my return"
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 4:52 PM UTC
strapped
lipless
torn in between my own blood
hallow in the willow I feel when
the winds speak
like tormented children
my soul leaks
like inky fluid blotting my shaded arena of eyes
manifested
burried
alive
in between all the pretty winter, lies
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
The way you said my name,
like it was heavy in your mouth
yet worth its weight in vibrancy,
worth the strain a single syllable
caused an undulating tongue
such as yours, that rippling
pink squid beating a solid
leather drum to carve me
into existence, explode the
air into a sweltering thrum,
like you had licked the naked
off my skin and melded
negative space and clammy
saliva onto scaffolding
lining the roof of your mouth,
carved an arc of sound
only I could fit through,
you said my name
like you meant it,
like you loved me,
you knew what it meant
and cherished it no less
and because of that,
so did I.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Nth of everything I am
Newfangled and abnormal I stand
I eat my arid lips that peel away from stress
Must I assure myself over and over that I am fine
Deeply enticed, I wish no one knew this address
Does one or more espy on me I wonder
My heteromorphic way plundered
Salvage my derange
Rummage through my space
I am outré and weird here
Don't espy on my lipless face
Dec 19, 2010
Dec 19, 2010 at 5:42 PM UTC
Fall
U
1 somnambulant princess
from
heaven dearly
creaking
hushed
tumults
U
leaking flashes
in Paris
U have a wry lipless smile
struck leaning
against a church playground
smothered
in you child dying
Ur a playful
hair seriously
sets the dirt on edge
and all trees
inU
are nudest
by bell ringing
in a church yard
leans the fair
mushy
uglywonderful
body of
U
Fall
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 3:17 PM UTC
or
well the
last time we were
which was also like
it was like 2 hot kittens
with button eyes trembling
against their sockets an unimaginable
tear and ladybugs and it smelled so pretty
when the stormy dream of your fuzz blundered
into the small summer of sturdy knees and sore ankles
and rickety sounding sunsets caving with silence, their
prosey colours dullling with a fast time over the bulbous
hearth of gods lemon drop wrists that have large merry hands
smiling with dew flecked cheeks rambling open rough lipless pockets
of deep poppies singing in the right little garden in the front yard of yesterda
y
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
there was how shall i say green the city consumed the meek and tender brilliant
all rose in slenderest gardening blossoms root 'pon root in earth univocal (it's
shoulders, feel fresh, smoothly revolt into unchaste Autumn)
whose lipless grotesque
smiling parts
between all
ivory leans
October
her
smell
is wet
curious
Cinnamon
chamomile
citrus tingles
against
the wide
plate of unhairing
FALL(s
from a broad leaf
russet tranquil
blue
, flat and cool ,
peels with tenderest
coming
eve
flickers
big
with
frailing
sun
collapses
intooneenormity:
ORAnge
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
beginning closed, opened fragile hardy meadows outward from the tumult
of absolute stillness. a skull in every smile smiles quick wry lipless grins
in every skull it smiles amongst the bodies, youth soaked dripping carnal uncarnal, it smiles whenever the voices, **** and vividly, couple and
uncouple the twains of hips(& between them it's grinning, in their pumping
force & even in the ****** of the sudden exploding creation)"it's grinning right there, and someday when you lay in last and final you will say 'hello, FOREVER'",
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 11:18 AM UTC
the hours 4 and 20 past
when lays my skull in cotton glass
and lipless maws gasp and laugh
fleshless poesy of ice and gas
in erring billows frothing mass
scowl(
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
Transgression of the poppy field,
An unseen divide.
A step into his forest, was taken,
The Baron's precious garden, his pride.
Hounds, carrion birds,
Three days since released.
Tamed to pursue his game,
Escape to the prey would not be a relief.
Gradient of the path,
Can only lead to the mire.
Mammoth or Moth regardless,
Eaten by the murky pyre.
Hand in hand,
They, the Baron's past time;
Ran three days from the manor
Blind, in stillborn moonlight.
Scraping, stumbling, falling.
Roots drink their blood.
Prey and prisoners of the night,
In the forest of the evergreen flood.
Groping through the dark,
Evidence of fear in torn faces.
Vines their shackles,
Their stench leaving traces.
The baying of the Shamans,
Ullulating in alien tongues,
Became songs singing
Of lives in the forest undone.
The Forest, never once
Did it disappoint its master.
Earthly bane, poison sap,
Nurtured by her, the mother gardener.
She emerged from the swamp,
Naked, a lipless face.
Devoid of two limbs
Bearing the Cyclop's curse with grace.
Hopping faster than sense permitted,
One legged she bustled.
Towards the six hundred sixty seventh and sixty eighth.
She, a mass of bone and muscle.
As her Master would have it,
All life must be extinguished.
The Child, with rope she suspended.
High at the treetops the form diminished.
Before the Man could look,
The Child's head was no more.
An inverted fountain of blood erupted,
And drizzled upon his nose.
Frenzied he ran, tears stillborn,
Drove himself straight into an iron stake.
Dead eyes looked even as the Baron's champion said;
"A Hunter always knows his Master's estate."
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
drink to this, lipless,
"'rotten' isn't what you think",
you tarry the borders in white.
you glisten like factory,
you tremble like gold,
you're edging the ready to fight.
your countenance silver,
your wrangle-send wet,
my finger, your jawline, the light.
I miss what you were.
You forget who you are.
Euclidean.
Forgiven.
And right.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
All the boys and girls I had ever kissed were screaming together in a chorus, lipless, with open mouths, sharp little red teeth, gnashing.
In my head
In my head
And then I went to the green woods
For solitude and silence, and shame
And there, under the green boughs
I pulled the curtains of membranes
under their tongues, and my own,
over their heads, with thread
I needled, sewing up mouths
then I kisssd their faces like their mother, "goodnight"
and then they were mute,
and only could whimper
and then I left, feeling, yes
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC